


Sextantis

by riverbanks



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 500 words, Bottom Shiro, M/M, Shiro POV, Slipstream - Freeform, sheithweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:30:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7845010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbanks/pseuds/riverbanks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiro counts stars on the freckles of Keith's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [500-words drabble for #SheithWeek on twitter: Day 1: First Time, and Day 2: Body Worship]
> 
> This fic is also [linked on my tumblr](http://riverbanks.tumblr.com/post/150444856780).

**_i._ **

Shiro counts stars on the freckles of Keith's back. His teeth tearing at the skin of Keith's neck, eyes fluttering closed, open again as Keith's hands roam his chest, his thighs, ghosting the length of his dick, calloused fingers and chewed nails scratching and leaving behind a trail of burning skin everywhere they touch. The whole universe could fit on the little brown spots peppered across Keith's shoulders like little galaxies, and Shiro runs out of names to call them when Keith breathes against his ear.

_Shiro._

There's a hunger in him, in them, there's a need buried down in the pit of his stomach that Keith sets on fire with the touch of his hand. It was cold, out in space. Keith warmed him then, the memory of him, the shape of his face, the echo of his voice, the taste of his mouth keeping a small fire burning inside Shiro and urging him to live, to come back for the things he couldn't leave behind; and Keith warms him now, teeth on his throat and nails on his back, grounding him, keeping Shiro here, with him, when part of him wants to pretend he was never gone, and part of him could just disappear in thin air.

_What day is today?_

They rediscover each other's bodies day by day, a hand on the shoulder to focus each other, back pressed to back on the training room, fingers grazing and entwining under the table, a kiss goodnight in a dark hallway, Keith's lips still as dry, as chapped as Shiro remembers, fingers brushing hair out of his eyes. Every touch feels like the first time, feels like coming home.

_Does it matter anymore?_

Keith weights on him, pushing Shiro down into the mattress, and this too feels like the first time, and in its own way it is - the first time after Kerberos, the first time after the end. The first time after everything changed, and yet, all it took was opening his eyes to see Keith by his side again, to know that nothing had changed at all between them.

 _I'm not made of glass_.

Hands on him like porcelain, Keith sits between his legs, knees spreading his thighs apart, fingers stretching him inside, and still Shiro feels like he's made of crystal, like Keith touches him so lightly he barely feels real. Shiro pushes back, hooking his feet on the back of Keith's waist to pull him closer, yanking him down for a kiss by the hair, teeth on Keith's lips, chin, throat, bringing him closer, grounding him here, with him.

_You're not made of stone._

When Keith pushes inside him, burns through every wall, becomes part of him like they’re one and the same, Shiro feels like he could dissolve into a million stars -but Keith is here with him, now, and for a moment Shiro feels whole again. This could be the first, the last, each and every single time. He's home now.

 _It matters to me_.

_...then let's find out._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_**ii.** _

Keith draws lines along the curves of his chest, and Shiro traces maps in his head of all the places Keith’s fingers might find him, away from here.

“I don’t feel like myself, sometimes,” Shiro whispers into Keith’s hair, a confession he can only make like this, in the dark, in the quiet stillness of lights out, in what passes for night when space has no days. When it’s so dark Shiro can’t see himself, when he feels like an outsider looking in at the frame of himself lying in Keith’s arms, but doesn’t feel like he belongs there anymore.

“Like the Shiro who left and the one who came back aren’t really the same.”

Keith watches a blank space between them in silence, and Shiro doesn’t resent him -he knows Keith doesn’t have any answers for him, not when he’s still waiting for answers he never got either way. But Keith has a way to press his hand again Shiro’s heart that drains out a weight Shiro’s not even aware he’s carrying, and a way to nibble at the stubble growing along the line of his jaw that makes Shiro want to laugh, and he does, a chuckle breathed between teeth when Keith turns his head up to catch Shiro’s mouth into a kiss.

Keith shifts them around, settling Shiro onto his back and straddling his legs, a quick teasing grind of his hips enough to wake Shiro from his drowsy, half-asleep state of staying up so late, watching stars and thinking too much. Then Keith is kissing him again, chewing at his lips until it almost hurts, then running his tongue over the bruised skin like he’s trying to catch the taste of something on him.

Shiro lets his head fall back, gives Keith room to graze a path of quick pecks and tiny, soft bites down his neck, further and further down. When Keith’s lips reach his chest, Shiro is grinding up against him a little bit, slow, needing the touch but letting Keith set the pace. When Shiro feels teeth closing around his nipple, Keith is rolling his hips, grinding back against him in earnest, and he answers in kind, letting a moan echo out in the silence of his quarters as Keith laps at the skin of his breast and bites down again, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Still tastes the same here,” Keith grunts against his skin, raising his head like he’s coming up for air.

“Still feels the same here,” he smirks, grinding down hard one more time to make Shiro’s breath catch on his throat.

Shiro laughs, and it sounds like a cough when Keith rolls his hips _just so_ , making Shiro feel like his entire self is draining down and pooling at the base of his dick, but it comes from the heart. Keith doesn’t have the words to talk to him about any of this, not yet, but he can make Shiro forget for a little while, take his mind off the constant buzz around the edge of his thoughts, and for that Shiro is grateful enough.

Keith takes hold of his metal hand and drags it across his own chest to rest on his heart, and Shiro’s eyes are wide when Keith holds his stare, challenging him to move it away.

“Still feels the same here, too,” and his voice is low, and tired, and full of that thing that’s always there in the back of spaces between them when Keith says, _I missed you_. It’s a promise, made long ago, and Shiro knows, through all this and all there will be--he still owes it to Keith to make good on his end.

Keith’s heart beats against the palm of his hand, a nova seeping through wires and steel to echo back into his own, and for a second in time Shiro feels like he can almost find himself again in the stars he can taste on Keith’s lips.

 _I’m still here,_ his own heart whispers, and if he rests still for a moment Shiro can almost hear himself answer, _I know_.

 

 


End file.
